


The Revenge of Lloyd Rathman

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Cooking, Coulson being forbidden to see Daisy ha ha, Domestic, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Eating, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Flirting, Male-Female Friendship, Older Man/Younger Woman, Roleplay, Sex, Showers, Swimming Pools, Urban Fantasy, callbacks to S1, the new Director - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 02:19:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8126621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: Based on 4x1 setup.  Daisy is lonely and kidnaps Coulson as an excuse to have a moment alone with him.





	

"Is this a new thing with you?"

"What?" she asks over her shoulder, opening up her backpack and pulling out the device she's cobbled together and placing it up against the security panel.

"This is somebody's home," he reminds her, leaning into the doorway.

"I know," she replies, as the panel changes colors, and they hear the click of the front door. "That's the whole point."

She pushes through the front door, and he follows, as they switch off the outdoor lights and he looks past the short entrance to the inside of the expansive house.

"How do you know they won't be-" he starts, watching her pull off the cap she's wearing and shed the backpack entirely.

"Because I know whose house this is," she says, flopping onto the couch and starting to undo her boots. "He's not coming home for awhile."

His curiosity is piqued, and he walks to the couch and sits down on it beside her.

"How long do you think you can keep this up? They're looking for me."

"I've managed to evade SHIELD this entire time," she sighs, getting her other boot off and sitting back into the couch.

"This might work out in their favor," he considers. "Since they think I wasn't trying that hard to find you to begin with."

"I kidnapped you, Coulson. I put a bag over your head and shoved you into my van in broad daylight. I think you've got an alibi."

"What exactly do you want with me?" he teases, as his smirk grows wider.

"To see you. To talk," she starts, taking her eyes off of his and looking around the house, fixing on the Warhol knockoff painting of the house's owner. "To, not have to be anything for a moment."

He could easily dig deeper into that, but something inside of him wants to hold back. To let this all come out on her terms.

His eyes land on the picture, too. Something familiar about it in a way he can't put his finger on yet.

"Boy, that guy sure likes to look at himself," he says, walking toward it to figure out if it's an actual painting. She shrugs, and he goes on. "I bet the kitchen's great."

Turning, he smiles at her, and she gives him a shy smile back.

"Yeah, I'm starving," she admits.

  
##

"Lloyd Rathman," he repeats, stirring the inside of the saucepan.

He's thinking about it for a moment, but she gives him a sly look from her seat at the island counter and waits until it clicks.

"Isn't that the guy whose cars, plural, you stole?"

She smiles wider and then grabs an artichoke off the nearby cookie sheet, as he slaps at her hand, too late.

"When you saved me, out in the desert," he goes on, his voice getting soft.

Distracted, the sauce in the pan starts to boil and there's a pop. A splatter of it ends up on the kitchen counter.

He gives it his attention and turns down the heat as she gets out of her seat to walk past him and hears him opening and closing drawers behind her.

"Here," she says, finding what she was after, holding up her hands towards him. "Put this on."

Ducking his head, she puts the loop of the apron over the top of his head, and then turns him, a hand on his waist, to tie it from behind.

"That okay?" she asks, not tying it too tight.

"Yes," he says, his voice sounding dry. It's probably guilt. That part of him thinking they shouldn't be using his stuff, instead of wishing for a moment that this was their kitchen, their house.

His eyes widen, and it gives her the hope that it's fallen into place. The reason she brought him here.

"Do you want to open a bottle of wine?" he asks, like he's testing his theory.

"Sure," she says, sliding a hand along his arm. "Any special requests?" she calls behind her as she starts to hunt for where Lloyd Rathman keeps his wine.

"Over there, in the case," he tips his head towards the temperature-controlled unit and tosses the artichokes with some olive oil and seasoning, then slips them into the oven.

She gets the door open, and starts looking at the bottles. "I'm not exactly a wine person."

"I'm sure they're all good," he says, sliding the dry noodles into the boiling water. "We have good taste, right?"

"Uh huh," she says, still bent over, but crossing her shoulder to look at him.

Their eyes meet. It's gone intense, suddenly. She's searching for the agreement.

Wrapping a hand around the bottle neck, she walks back towards him, and sets the bottom on the counter, tipping it, so they can look at the label together.

"2006," he says, stirring the pan and touching the bottle with his free hand, brushing against her fingers. "It must be a special occasion."

"It is," she stays, staring up at him, their height difference apparent now that her boots are off.

She thinks he looks like he might actually be considering this, when the oven gives a gentle, steady beeping noise.

"Don't want them to burn," he says, sliding on the oven mitt.

  
##

They sit out on the back patio, his idea.

It's Southern California, the weather is perfect, and they might actually be able to see a few stars, even.

"You sure know how to throw together something from nothing," she says with a pleased noise, taking another bite of the pasta.

It's okay, all things considered. He thinks maybe she just knows how much he likes a compliment when he tries really hard.

"Our backyard is very luxurious," he remarks, taking another sip of the wine, and brushing his bare feet against the edge of the grass. "Did you know we had a pool?"

"I did not know we had a pool," she says, putting down her fork, and picking up her glass, turning over her shoulder to see the cover against the ground. "Do you feel like a swim?"

"What about dessert?" he asks, feeling suddenly nervous, despite how easygoing and natural their conversation has been to this point.

They haven't really been talking about anything. Which, he guesses, is the whole point.

Usually when he's done this, he's pretending because he's wanted something. Information, cooperation, to hide.

It still feels like he's not allowed to want this. Not anymore.

"Dessert after," she says decidedly, and puts down her glass and gets up to walk towards the pool.

He leans back in the chair and watches, as she works out the controls and the cover slides back, the lights come on.

"Our pool is heated," she calls back at him, raising her voice above the noise. "I think that was my idea. Pretty sure."

He smiles, and he can't remember the last time he smiled like this. The kind where it reached all the way to his heart.

She starts to get rid of her clothes, and he picks up their glasses, and balances them with the wine bottle and walks over to the edge of the pool.

Setting them down beside the water, he pours more wine into each of them, then stands up and drops his hands to the buttons on his shirt.

He lifts his eyes to meet hers when she reappears, dumping a fluffy bathrobe on the pool chair.

"It's really nice to have a weekend all to ourselves," she tells him, as her hand comes to rest on his shirt, over his heart.

"Do we-" he wants to ask, but he can't bring himself to. He knows that this means something. At some point, it won't be pretending anymore.

"Maybe," she says, finishing his thought the way she does sometimes. Then she pats the front of his shirt, walking away towards the pool as he continues to undress.  
  
She drops the robe, and then dives, naked, into the pool. He watches as she ducks her head under the water, and then comes up, wiping a hand across her face.

"How is it?" he asks, loosening his belt.

"It's perfect."

  
##

She puts her hand against the rippled glass of the shower, bracing herself as he steps close behind her, and she tips her head when his mouth brushes against her shoulder.

They've been doing all of this slow. Trying to make it stretch out for as long as they can. Filling it with the kinds of things they've never talked about.

It doesn't feel like they're pretending anymore.

Instead, pretending is what they've done for all of these years.

Not one mention of work, or pain, or guilt or suffering. That will come, too. It's always been able to find them.

The warm water drizzles their bodies, as he slides against her, the way he wants to hold her closer to him, dragging his lips along her ear, then her cheek, he wants more.

He's needy, in ways that she never expected him to be.

And she loves it.

She turns around and puts the tips of her fingers against his chin, standing up on her toes a little and kisses him full on the mouth, and he groans and pulls her back against him, instantly, more touch, more contact.

It puts her face right in the trickle of the shower head above them and she pulls back to wipe the water off.

"Sorry," he says, moving her with him, his arms still around her waist, until they're out of the stream. "I wish our bathroom were bigger," he jokes.

She laughs a little, and hugs into him, and stares around at the huge space they're in, and thinks about living in a van. Showers in motels.

"We should retile it," she says, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. "These tiles are ugly."

"I'm so glad you were the one to say it, and not me," he tells her, pulling back so he can see her face. "After all, you picked them out."

"What?" she asks, narrowing her eyes. "I would never pick these tiles out."

"You did," he tells her, with a shrug. "And I let you. But, I knew you'd see it my way over time."

"You're so benevolent," she replies, throwing her arms around his neck. "Is that how you get your way? Waiting me out?"

"I don't mind waiting for you."

It's the closest they've come to crossing the line. Back into that other world.

She's not having it.

Pushing him until his back is against the glass, she kisses him hard, pressing her body up against his, until he's melting into her touch.

"I'd rather you just ask for what you want."

He stays against the wall, thinking on it, as she walks further into the shower, and starts looking through the gels and washes.

"So," she says, offering up the bottles of expensive body wash in each hand. "Carnal Flower or Geranium for Men?"

"It feels like a Carnal Flower kind of night."

  
##

He just wants to tell her everything.

Everything.

But that's not why they're here. That's not why she wants this. Him.

He gasps, loud, when she lowers herself onto him, his fingers digging into her hips, careful. Careful with the left hand, keep it under control.

"Dai-"

Now he's in a spot. They haven't used each other's names all night. Who are these other people supposed to be, that have this perfect life together?

"Phil, it's okay," she tells him, leaning forward to give him a gentle kiss. "I don't want to pretend anymore. Not like this. Okay?"

He can already feel the tears starting to form in his eyes, mirroring hers, and he wraps his hand around her head and kisses her deeply. Desperately, if he's being honest with himself.

She presses her lips together and gives a low moan as he fits all the way inside of her, as he raises his hips up to feel even deeper. They're so close now, so close.

"I love you."

Her eyes open, and she looks down at him, surprised or startled. He's only hoping he didn't ruin the moment. He hopes that he knows her that well.

She doesn't answer, instead, she starts moving her hips in circles over him, watching him try to stay in control, putting her thumb against his cheek as a tear slips down it, brushing her fingers across his lips, over the scar on his chest.

Their hands link together, fingers intertwined, and he lets her find the rhythm, then starts to move with her.

"Phil-" she says, as a little frown forms between her eyebrows, as she works through it. "Can you- I need you to-"

"I love you," he repeats, watching her mouth fall open, her hips shudder against his, and her nails dig into his palm. It pulls him even closer, the way he feels surrounded by her, and held in her.

She falls forward after, still quiet, and presses her face into the space between this shoulder and neck, trying to catch her breath.

"I should ask for things more often," he says, kissing her forehead.

He can feel her smile, as her fingers slide through the hair on his chest, over his sensitive nipple. It makes him flinch, and gives her the reaction she wanted.

She looks up at him, biting her lower lip.

Still curious, still wanting to touch.

  
##

"Care to explain this?" the Director says, tossing the folder onto the desk in front of him.

He frowns a little, and opens it, then frowns even more.

"No."

"What part of 'forbidden' do you not understand?"

"That guy really does like to look at himself," he mutters, scanning through the security pictures of them in Lloyd Rathman's kitchen, the pool, the shower.

"Lloyd Rathman is doing time. His internal security system is not."

Now he's really glad they stayed in one of the guest bedrooms.

"I guess this breaks that fraternization rule?" he answers, sitting back in the chair. "Decimates?" he suggests.

The Director just closes his eyes in disappointment. "I've had to set up a new category for this."

"Which is?" Coulson asks, turning his eyes up to him. "You're joking, right?"

"I haven't decided yet," the Director says, shutting the file and then sliding it over to Coulson. "Maybe something named after you? All that to say, you don't look very kidnapped here."

"Yeah. Looks bad, doesn't it?" he agrees. "I was only a little kidnapped."

"Did you get any actionable intel at least?"

"Yes," he says brightly, taking a piece of paper out of his pocket, on Lloyd Rathman's personal stationary.

"What's this?" he asks, looking up at Coulson and unfolding it.

"A list of active Watchdog members. Who are hunting Inhumans. She might want to help us, if we start by helping her."

"Oh now she's offering us terms. Perfect. Maybe we should make her Director?"

He just bites his tongue and tries not to smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Carnal Flower is a real luxury brand bodywash. XD


End file.
